WeissKreuz Whim 2 Loss
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: He looked needy. I was needy. One plus one still makes two... Yohji and Schuldig, with a smattering of Crawford and Aya.


Hi Comtess,

Sweet of you to review 'Whim' - well, here's another one in the sequence of Schuldig/Yohji stories... Hope you like it, and perhaps it gives a little insight into the workings of their peculiar kind of bond...

For you and all the other fans of Schuldig/Yohji.

Cheers  
LH

**xxx**

**WeissKreuz - Whim 2 - Loss**

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Warnings: male/male affection and references to sex.  
Rating: M for the above reasons.  
Summary: Why did Yohji go with Schuldig? How will Aya react? And Crawford?

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He was trying to taste it. The flavour of love. Of wanting someone beyond reason, of two minds melting into one, irresistibly, irrevocable. He was sliding his tongue over his lips after we kissed, his pale blue eyes glazed, shuttered behind copper lashes… he could not catch it, I could tell from the way his expression went blank, his hands clawed into the rumpled sheets that were damp after our screwing session.

But then, where would Schuldig have learned how it feels? Affection, warmth, longing. Not the greedy obsession of wanting so much that anything in its path is destroyed, ending up scorched and bleeding and broken.

He wants it. I can see that alright. He really, truly wants to feel it. And it nearly blew me to realise this.

Because I know, if I let him, if he keeps trying, if he pushes himself hard enough, beyond this unfeeling, unseeing barrier of nastiness, he will get to me. He will give what Aya refuses. He will fill me by making complete anything I've been lacking so far because…

Because he could have been what Aya is. He is bright, sharp, quick. He is… handsome, to say the least, if a little on the skinny side. And he is goddamn resilient, considering what they've been through, the four of them. Schwarz. And perhaps he is more like me than I care.

No, I am not sympathising with the enemy, how could I? We've seen enough of them to despise the air they're breathing, according to Aya.

I'm not so sure. For Aya, the world has no shades of grey. Black and white, good and bad, hot and cold… he lives with this excess of hatred and love, with very little room in between, grinding himself down along with anything that might soften his life. Yes, I love him. For his passion, for his beauty, for the fragile boy hiding beneath all those garish layers of colours and teflon. Perhaps this is why he hates me sometimes – because he was right, and if I were honest with myself for once, I'd admit that I love not Aya, but Ran.

Aya knows. His senses are as keen as a razor. So he knows, and he deeply resents it. I have a good deal to answer for… his deepening bitterness, that instead of softening has only bloomed and matured in the years we've been together. For the anger that keeps seething and roiling inside this darkening soul, for the blasts of jealous rage and outbursts of temper he takes out on my hide, for the lashings of helpless fury he gives me because I abuse the fact that he can never find the right words at the right time…

And now, that I'm making my way back to the Koneko on roundabout ways, drinking in the muggy heat of the late summer evening while smoking one cigarette after another, I admit to myself, and only to myself, that I am rather shaken. Not only my legs that feel like rubber, or my dick that nestles limply in my pants after having spent itself a few times into that slim, lanky body…

I did not expect I'd yield like that. Seeing Schuldig on the other side of the street, watching him watching me over the thick of the traffic… we've been sneaking around one another for such a long time, the sight of him so familiar – long copper hair, casual stance, oddly eager eyes, this strange half-smile pulling at his thin lips. He was smoking and ogling me unashamedly. It drives Aya round the bend to know and be powerless to stop it, and usually Schuldig takes his pleasure from hiding but making his presence known with small things. Such as the smell of cigarette smoke drifting from behind a corner, and the strong scent of his aftershave… a flash of bright copper, a soft sound, laughter, whispered taunts in the dark, and when Aya's katana slices into the night it will never draw blood.

I know I'd have a hard time forgiving him if he ever did, and I despise myself for it. What is my excuse? The deal I struck with Schuldig so he'd leave Aya alone? Hardly.

So what exactly drove me to cross the street today? After all those many times I did not. After the many times Schuldig dragged me off to drive to some secluded spot and spend the time… talking. Him jabbering at me. Nonsensical stuff, pouring out of him relentlessly, and it took me a while to work out that he needed this, like some kettle under steam, or a fountain with an overflow. I was – I am his overflow, his catch-all, his quiet corner to hide in when Crawford's overdone it and pushed him too far.

Because he thinks I know. That I will understand what he's on about, in this jerky, disjointed way of his.

He cannot be without Crawford. They're all about power, the two of them together. A ceaseless circling, watching, pouncing, but Crawford has the upper hand. Keeping Schuldig close, yet at arm's length. Reminding me of Aya and my stupid little self, although our game is a different one, and Aya doesn't allow me close at all.

Unlike Aya, Schuldig was not afraid of letting go. He is brash and brazen, nasty if he applies himself to it. His taunts can be deadly… but when I try to count the times I've seen him kill someone, I score zilch. Naught. Zero. Okay, so he has his pet doing the dirty work for him, but he dislikes getting his hands dirty.

Though he could have. Perhaps he does, elsewhere, when we don't run into one another on some job or another. It's doing my head in.

There, one more corner to round and I'll see the Koneko, with Ken and Omi working this shift because Aya is off sulking somewhere and I've been off fucking Schuldig. Good grief, how could I?

There's a bench nearby. I don't think I want to go to the flowershop yet. So I slump down and watch the thinning traffic, the bustle of people, shoving here and there, back and forth, every one with an aim, a goal, somewhere to go. Home, perhaps.

Even Schuldig has a place he calls his home. He is making an effort.

He was not a nice fuck. Too tight, too tense, way too harsh. Like a dog craving a caress and then biting the hand that gives it. But he tried damn hard. To give everything, to let go, and he let me in with something close to abandon on his pale face, and it shocked me to realise he might just not know how else to deal with this.

Omi will know. The chibi is lucid that way. It's familiarity, he told me once when I returned to the Koneko from one of my odd encounters with the firehead; Schwarz and Weiss, we know one another rather well. It makes sense, doesn't it?

With Aya closing me off, shutting me out, and Schuldig dragging me in… I've been good for such a damn long time, and today I just snapped. After another row with Aya, a night of bickering instead of lovemaking, with him ending up beating off in the shower, and me high and frustrated… what were we on about? Ah, me being a slut. Him not telling me what I need to hear. Three words, and I'll be his, without a second thought, unconditionally, forever. Yes, just like that.

He refused. Again. He wants me, but he doesn't want to give. If I still could, I'd have cried. I can't, so I yelled instead, got pissed and high; he slapped me around a bit, and in the morning I woke in his room, fully dressed on the tatami by the footend of his futon, and had the mother of all hangovers. He and Omi were arguing in the kitchen. Ken was working the shop,the transmission of some soccer game on the radio, on full so he did not have to listen to their snappy, cold exchange of unpleasantries.

I know that Schuldig had been patiently biding his time. Waiting for me to wear down, for Aya to burst out, for Crawford to be unattentive for just a glimpse in time.

Well, he had it, and he used it. I couldn't see the point in denying him any longer. Inhibitions lowered by the rest of booze and stuff sloshing through my body. He looked good in his usual tight, cheap gear – blue jeans and a plain black tee – his pretty hair flowing over his shoulders, without the stupid headband to hold it back.

He looked needy. I was needy. One plus one still makes two.

And now I am sitting here, on this bench as if it was a safe place, an island for me alone. I don't want to face the chibi. Or Ken's knowing gaze. Or Aya, pale and cruel and worn by suffering. I don't want to think about what Crawford is going to do if he finds out.

What I really want to do is go back to this dank, cramped place Schuldig calls his apartment, and screw him into the mattress without a second thought. To hell with the consequences, for once.

I am not surprised as a wash of cigarette smoke wafts over me. A shift of hot air, a sharp scent of cheap aftershave, and then I feel the poke of a skinny elbow against my ribs. "Hey," Schuldig says, nudging me. "What's up, dumbhead?"

He can be affectionate.

"Wanna screw some more?"

And he's got a nice way of putting things. Economical, sparse, without fuss. No humdrum.

I look up and open my mouth to hurl something nasty at him – and snap my gob shut again. He smiles lopsidedly, but it's a grimace… one eye is swollen shut and purplish black, his lower lip is split, and he holds his left arm strangely still. Crawford had a word with him, obviously.

"Don't look at me like that," he snarls, "I provoked him. So what?"

He will always defend Crawford. I'm not likely to fare much better once I get back to the Koneko. I will not fight Aya off; I tend to hold out until he's too exhausted to carry on beating me up, and then I'll wait until he's willing to fuck me for comfort. Hurt and comfort. He's good at that, even if he doesn't know it, and I'm stupid to bear it. And no, it's not like he was a wife-bashing asshole 'cos I'm no woman, my body's used to taking this kind of abuse. I can take more than a woman, and if I wanted, I could take Aya down.

Schuldig leans into me, winces at a twinge of pain, and presses his bruised lips on mine. We kiss. I slide my arm around his waist. He feels good, warm, firm, wiry. I remember vividly having him beneath me, spread wide, hard, hot and yielding, and quiet for once save the pants and groans that wrenched from his bony throat. He is sexy, he is willing. I like his hair, whisperfine, silky soft, unlike Aya's thick mane.

I toss the cigarette butt onto the dirty tarmac and get up. He follows, and I realise he drags one leg behind a little. Must have been some discussion he had with Crawford.

We turn away from the Koneko without another glance. I know he really wants Crawford. He knows I long for Aya.

Together we'll forget for a while what we're lacking.

It feels oddly comforting when he slips his arm around my waist, with his hand settling on my buttocks.

I let him.

It is a warm evening. And as we turn, I pretend not to see the two men that walk towards one another, one from the direction of the flowershop, the other one emerging from the hustle of people in the street. Crimson hair, and the glint of glasses.

When I cast a glance at Schuldig, I meet his blue gaze and know he's seen them too.

We will have one hell of a time.

Xxx

The End


End file.
